


Hope Springs Eternal

by BreatheAndFocus



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Depression, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 01:05:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16149314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreatheAndFocus/pseuds/BreatheAndFocus
Summary: “Hey there.” His voice has a very warm tone to it, he smiles, but even a stranger like me can tell that it’s exhausted. He looks around the room, perhaps to get his bearings, and as he spots my mother talking to the doctor, he finds me again and says, “You’re new?”“Yeah,” I answer nervously. “I am.”“Well,” he says, and he looks slightly amused. “I guess ‘welcome’ would be an odd word to use. It’s good to have you though, given the help we all need here. Sure beats the alternative.”





	Hope Springs Eternal

**Author's Note:**

> I take mental health very seriously in both my writing and in my real life. I mean no disrespect or harm to anyone suffering from major mental illness.
> 
> Special thanks to my friend Cassie for all of her help.

It’s a quiet building, the Hope Outreach Psychiatric Ward. Way quieter than I expected, but then, I think the image I had of a mental facility was more of a nightmare stereotype. White walls, uncaring doctors, people screaming behind locked doors. Basically, the horror stories that we’re taught by TV.

The walls are a gentle shade of blue, and I’m lead in by a friendly man. He’s assuring my mother as we go in that the patients are closely monitored here by trained staff, while also maintaining the respect and integrity of each person they take care of. Group sessions are held once a week, and any of the patients considered dangerous to themselves or others are regularly evaluated and re-evaluated. _This includes your daughter,_ are the unspoken words.

I don’t know where I’d fall in the evaluation scale. I know having a suicide plan is pretty serious, but I wouldn’t know how to rank these things from one to ten. Is that what they do here? All I know is that my hands are trembling, and I’m trying not to cry. It’s strange. I’m scared, I _know_ I’m scared, but if someone asked me why, I wouldn’t really know how to answer. Maybe it’s that exact feeling, the feeling of not having an explanation, that’s giving me this awful sense of nausea. Where am I going? Where exactly will these hallways end up taking me, forget the present, but in the long run? There’s no way of knowing, not even if I asked.

All I know is that, I don’t think I deserve to be here. I don’t deserve any help.

If it weren’t for me, he’d still be alive. So I…

I shouldn’t be alive either, right?

The corridor gives way to a room, one a lot more spacious than I thought it would be. There’s a table surrounded by seats in the centre, alcoves in the walls that are stacked with books. Bean bags chairs are strewn around, there's a bed pushed off to the side. There’s also several cameras spread about on corners of the ceiling, which is less surprising. I hear the doctor saying that patients have to request time in the group room, and supervision is offered in person or from cameras. They record too, in the event of an incident. A sign on the wall says that nothing in the shared living space may be taken back to our rooms. I find myself wondering if that’s a courtesy thing or a safety issue. I can’t help but notice how carefully that anything even resembling a sharp edge has been padded or filed down. There’s a dispenser of water, plastic and paper cups. No glass. Not surprising. I even hear the doctor behind me explaining that the apparently glass wall in front of us is fortified and one way only. It’s there for natural light. There are two round windows on either side of it, but they don’t open all the way, just enough for some air. It’s important that patients don’t forget about the world outside waiting for them, he tells my mother. She answers that the online reviews weren’t kidding about his place. It’s one of the best there is, natural, humane, kind. Worth any extra expense that she has to pay for me to start improving. 

“You indicated in your intake form that Miss Akamatsu here would benefit from music therapy?”

My mother sounds almost urgent as she says, “Yes, absolutely. Kaede’s an avid piano player, she constantly conveys how she’s feeling through music, she just adores classical. If she were cut off-”

“Relax. We have a room for artistic types. Paints, sketchbooks, instruments. They’re all closely monitored, medium to high risk patients can’t be in there by themselves, but we understand that it’s critical to the well being of many patients-”

“Oh.” 

My simple utterance immediately stops the conversation between the doctor and my mother. I was listening too, because my mother is right, music means the world to me. 

It’s just, while they were talking, I realised that the three of us aren’t alone in this room. 

In the corner furthest from where we’re standing, there’s a young man sitting in a dark green bean bag chair. His hair is a shade lighter than that, but the aesthetic looks natural enough that I overlooked him in my first scan over the room. He has a book in his lap, but he isn’t reading it. His gaze is instead focused on the blank wall beside him, and I can’t help but think that he’s not staring at it, but through it. 

“It’s rare to see him out here,” the doctor says, and he actually seems surprised. “He’s usually pretty reclusive.” 

Before the doctor has even finished speaking, I’m walking towards the stranger. I’m nervous, but then, I was when I got here. What’s a little more? I don’t know what pulls me towards him. Perhaps I’m hoping to feel less alone in such a strange environment. 

And yet, I don’t think that’s it.

I think it’s just, he looks so sad. 

I get how naive that is, even as I’m thinking it, even as I’m taking those steps across the room. Of course he’s sad. We’re all troubled, that’s why we’re here. Still, I’ve always been inspired by people. I _like_ people, I believe in the good we can all do. So when people are sad, when they need help, I guess I’m drawn to it. Not in a condescending way, not in a sense of being lured in by ‘the bad boy’, and I don’t have a need to fix anyone. It’s just, if it’s at all possible, I want to offer them hope. Even if it’s only a little, sometimes a little is enough. 

I hear my mom ask behind me: “Is that boy safe?” 

“He wouldn’t be out here if we thought he was a threat to other patients. I can’t give you any more details than that. Patient files aren’t disclosed without their permission."

I tune them out as I reach him, and I crouch down in front of him. Green eyes, a blue t-shirt and jeans. They look a little loose. Is that his style, or has he lost weight? Given it’s my first time seeing him, it’s hard to say. He could just have a lanky build, but something about it doesn’t look right. Still, there is charm to him, a sort of sharpness in his features. That look doesn’t quite reach his eyes, although I get the feeling that it should, and I feel a pang in my chest. 

I remember when I was talking to my mom at the table last week, when I confessed to her why I had that rope in my closet. She told me I needed help, and she couldn’t sobbing. I told her that I couldn’t just go to the ward. Not because I didn’t need it, but because there were so many people out there who had it worse than I did. What it felt like was guilt, remorse; something I should be able to overcome on my own, I just wasn’t strong enough. My mom had held me.

 _‘We all feel pain, and a lot of people suffer. It isn’t a competition, Kaede. Please, **please** don’t refuse to get help because you think your problems aren’t worth it. They’re just as important as anybody else’s.’ _  

I look in his quiet, distant eyes, and I question it again. My reason for being here. 

“Excuse me,” I say instead, because I’ve come this far, I should say something, right? 

The young man blinks once, twice, and I watch as awareness returns to his expression. He takes a moment to shake off whatever he was thinking before leaning forward, his feet finding the ground as he finally meets my eyes. “Hey there.” His voice has a very warm tone to it, he smiles, but even a stranger like me can tell that it’s exhausted. He looks around the room, perhaps to get his bearings, and as he spots my mother talking to the doctor, he finds me again and says, “You’re new?”

“Yeah,” I answer nervously. “I am.”

“Well,” he says, and he looks slightly amused. “I guess ‘welcome’ would be an odd word to use. It’s good to have you though, given the help we all need here. Sure beats the alternative.”

I laugh a little, nodding as I do. “That’s a good point.” The alternative would to continue all of this, worrying my friends and family. Struggling alone. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Kaede Akamatsu.”

“Rantaro Amami. Nice to meet you too.”

Given the troubled expression he had, I’m surprised by how laid back he is. The furrow in his brow hasn’t gone away, but his words are easygoing, his posture relaxed. My head slowly tilts, and after a moment I say, “Is it okay to ask what you were thinking about?”

“Nothing important,” he says dismissively, but when he doesn’t follow that up, I can’t help but think he’s lying. It makes sense, though. I’m sure everyone here has a lot to think about, and so much of it must be difficult. I have my own share of thoughts to sort through as well.

I deliberate the question many times over in my head. Is it dangerous to ask? Rude? Definitely invasive, but it also might be important to know. Is there anything I can do? Talking about it can be therapeutic for others, and having someone to listen, many long for that but don’t know where to find it. 

I settle for asking as gently as I’m able. “You don’t have to tell me,” I say, “but I was wondering if I could ask why you’re here.” A pause, and then I sigh, wincing a little as I think it over a second time, this time doubting. “Maybe it's a bad idea to ask. I guess I was hoping I could help.”

 

_~_

 

 _I’m on the couch with my head buried in my hands when I hear my stepmom scream, I hear footsteps racing down the stairs. I’m on my feet in less than a second, flying down hallways and corners towards the front door, and before I’m even there, my father shouts my name, furious, terrified. My stomach drops as the dread and nausea begin to kick in, but I can’t stop now. Not until I know if my family is okay._  

_Not until I know what the damage is this time._

_The blood.pouring down my girlfriend’s leg from the open wound in her thigh. The way she’s sobbing, holding onto my stepmom as the ambulance is called by my eldest sister. I can’t move. I can’t speak. I’m on my knees shaking, thinking no, I’d have to know if this happened. There’d be spatter on my hands, stains on my shirt, something, but then. It keeps happening, doesn’t it? She insists. My mother, my father, they insist because she insists. Why does it keep happening…?!_

_My stepmom has already slapped me, asked me who I am, because I can’t be her son. My father is holding me in his arms, and he’s promising me over and over._

_‘It doesn’t have to be like this. I’ll get you help, I promise. It’ll be okay…’_

_Beneath his promises, he can’t hear me begging him to believe me. I didn’t do it…_

 

~

 

Rantaro thinks long and hard before he finally answers. "That's very kind of you," he says, lowering his head. "If you ask people, ask delicately like that, but I wouldn't expect many answers. Not in a one on one setting.. You’re more likely to hear personal information during group sessions. Some of us have known each other for a while there, so try not to be too impatient, ‘kay?”

That’s his way of saying no, he doesn’t want to tell me, and I nod. “Of course. I-I’m not _trying_ to be impatient or anything-”

“I know,” he says. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just trying to look out for you.” 

“Thank you.” 

He quietly rests the book down on the chair as he stands, and the way his clothes fall. No, I wasn’t mistaken before. They’re definitely too big for him, and not for the sake of style. It’s not blatant or anything, but it’s supposed to be a tighter shirt, that’s what the fabric tells me. Not that I’m a fashion connoisseur either, it’s just…

Am I jumping to too many conclusions from the start? I don’t know what I’m supposed to be seeing from other patients, or how it's supposed to be. I’m troubled too, right? Am I supposed to act like it? Am I supposed to space out like him? Am I not supposed to offer support?

Will no one believe me if I don’t act like there's something wrong with me?

“I’m going back to my room now,” he tells me. “I’m a little tired.” A brief look, and he smiles. “They’ll wake us up tomorrow at around 8:30 and open the door down that hallway there. Leads to the cafeteria. You can get breakfast, meet the other patients, maybe some staff. Sometimes their children stop by.”

“Oh. That’s good to know. I appreciate it.” 

“It’s the least I can do. It can be pretty nerve wracking, walking through that door and wondering what happens next.” I feel a little hop in my chest, and before I can anxiously ask if it’s obvious, he smirks slightly. “Don't worry. We've all felt it.” He’s already starting for the hallway when he looks over his shoulder. “I want you to remember that, Kaede. No matter what it feels like, or how much it hurts, you’re not alone.” 

“Rantaro…” 

I don’t mean for my eyes to start welling up, and when I feel it, I start to paw at them, trying to wipe the tears away before they can even start falling. I guess I’ve always been pretty emotional under pressure, huh? If I don’t have music with me, I don’t always know what to do with myself. “Thank you. Really. I appreciate it.” 

“It’s nothing,” he says gently. Where there was once exhaustion, I see sympathy. “I hope your time here helps. I’ll see you around.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

With that, he walks down the hall. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I find myself counting the doors, watching which one opens. Two doors down, and to the right. I’ll have to keep that in mind, and I turn around to face my mother, the doctor. They haven’t moved, and after a moment I ask, “I’m sorry, were you two listening?” 

“A little,” my mom admits. “I was worried about you.” 

“Physically violent patients are kept in a different ward until they’ve been properly treated and counselled,” the doctor says, and it sounds to me like this may be his second or third time saying it. “I know you’re worried, Ms. Akamatsu. The media paints a bad image of places like this, and of the people who need to be here, but I promise. The patients in this ward, they’re just like your daughter. They’re adolescents struggling with a pain that would overwhelm even the strongest person. We’re here to help them, and they’re here to help each other. You don’t have to fear for her well being. She’s safe here.” 

I don’t know if my mom’s convinced, but I don’t think it’s because of bad stereotypes or prejudiced preconceptions. I think it’s just because, well, she's my mother. She’s always been a worrier, and I hurry over, wrapping my arms around her.

“I’ll be okay, mom,” I promise softly. “I’ll do what I can.” 

“You deserve to get better,” she tells me.

I don’t know how to answer, because I still…

I still don’t think I... 

“I’ll fight.” That’s all I can promise her, because if I can do this, if I can’t, I just don’t know right now. It always gets worse as the sun starts to set, and I can feel the tears returning. “I’ll fight, mom.”

She runs her fingers down my back gently, comfortingly. “Don’t worry, I’ll visit often.” 

“It’s okay,” I say, amused despite everything. “I know how important work is for you.” Not only is it important, but she loves it. I think going will relax her, take her mind off of all of this. If it makes her feel better, I’d rather she stay there. 

“You’re just as important,” she insists. “I’ll be here every weekend, I promise.” 

“Alright.” 

I do want work to help her feel better, but I know I’ll miss her constantly these first few days, and for some time afterwards. I can’t shake this awful fear as I whisper, “You won’t forget me?” 

“You have a lot of things to worry about,” she tells me, “but you never have to worry about that.” 

I nod, and I realize that I’m finally crying. “Okay. Okay…” 

A second doctor arrives soon after that, a young looking woman, and the first doctor takes my mother back down the hall to explain other pertinent details about the hospital, visiting hours and regulations. I give her one more hug before she goes, she gives me a kiss on the cheek, and she's gone. The second doctor assures me not to worry, but I hardly see or hear her. I’ll see my mom soon, and she offers me a tissue. 

“Don’t worry, it’s only natural to be nervous,” she says, and I’m reminded of Rantaro’s words. Somehow, having a patient’s words to back up the doctor, it really helps. It’s not just some thing we get told. 

I’m nervous, but I’m not alone.

I can do this.

Okay.

Okay...


End file.
